


The Debt Collection

by LizHollow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Long One-Shot, Slow Romance, Support Conversations (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizHollow/pseuds/LizHollow
Summary: Sylvain hates Byleth - or, more specifically, he hates her Crest. And he wants to make her pay for it.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 124





	The Debt Collection

In the art of wooing women, no one proved more proficient _and_ efficient than Sylvain Jose Gautier. He had built quite the reputation for himself, even at the age of nineteen, for being a skirt-chaser and a womanizer. Despite this reputation, women still threw themselves at him, only to be shocked when he discarded them after days of use. The reputation, though not unearned, failed to keep others at bay.

Most of his female classmates knew to keep well enough away, of course. His best female friend of childhood did what she could in terms of damage control of his reputation, while the other girls in the Academy waved him off as simply joking. No matter how much he flirted with them, to receive anything more than the rolling of eyes would be impossible.

Still, there was but one woman who he eyed as a prize greater than any of the girls at the Academy. He would never be able to sway them. But _her_? Skilled, illustrious, beautiful, and—most importantly—forbidden. He would win her affections: the professor.

Or so he thought.

It was one particular fall day, not long into the school year, when Sylvain found himself on the receiving end of some tears from a girl he had recently pursued. He had made an effort to calm her down, but the girl was having none of it. It was as she ran away from him that he noticed his professor watching from nearby.

“So, Professor,” he said without turning from watching the retreating figure of his ex, “do you enjoy spying on people?”

Byleth, caught in the act, stepped forward. She was not one to display her emotions outright—Sylvain had learned that much about the elusive woman in the weeks since the start of term. Even she could not mask the disappointment in her face, though. It was a look he was used to from adults, but Byleth was almost his age, maybe a year or two older.

“You look like you’ve got something to say. So, say it,” he told her.

Emotions or not, Byleth held back nothing as she responded, “You’re a jerk.”

How simple would it be to win over the professor when she thought he was a jerk? Well, not very, Sylvain had to admit. Especially when she responded with such condescension in her tone. She didn’t know anything, had only seen the end of what was a beautiful relationship, so what could she know?

“Hey, that was between me and her, not you.” He shrugged, but such nonchalance was lost on Byleth. “But you know how it is. Most relationships, they end in heartbreak.”

Did she know? How many men had Byleth been with? In a troop full of mercenaries, most of whom were men, Byleth had to have her pick. Then again, with her dad in charge, it was possible that most men would be too scared of playing around with her to bother.

She did not look impressed, which neither confirmed nor denied his theory. He continued, “Anyway, I don’t know why she’s so upset about me dating other girls. She didn’t care before she found out, so why does she care now?” He sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. “I really do hate seeing a girl cry.”

Byleth, serious as ever, merely commented, “It doesn’t seem that way.”

“Come on. It’s hard on me, too!” He would have to play this to his advantage. “If only I had someone to comfort me. Professor? It’s okay if you want to console me… I happen to have some exquisite tea back in my quarters. You could come by, and… we could chat about love.”

He held out his hand to her, and she took a step back. For the first time since he met her, anger reared its ugly head—only it wasn’t ugly. It was possible that Byleth was even more beautiful with her brow furrowed like that. She shook her head, lips pursed, and Sylvain grinned.

“Calm down—it was only a joke! You’ve really got no sense of humor, you know that?”

Byleth said nothing more, and her face did not relax. She shook her head once more and turned on her heel, leaving him in the streets of the village without so much as a glance back. Sylvain hoped that she might be curious, maybe even worried, but if she was, she made no indication.

Well, as it turned out, it was for the best. Not long after that, the professor picked up the Sword of the Creator and found herself the host of a rare Crest.

And from that moment forward, Sylvain decided it wasn’t worth it to chase after her. No, he would rather hate her instead.

* * *

Classes at the Officers Academy hardly differed from that of the extravagant schooling paid for by virtue of being a noble, except that Sylvain now had classmates to contend with. Still, it was hardly as though he was _here_ for an education. He had nothing to prove; in fact, it would be better if he could prove nothing at all. So, he would let his classmates take all the glory, while he sat in the back of the classroom and blended in.

That was the hope, anyway, especially given that Byleth had no experience as an educator. But as she grew comfortable in the role, she proved she was not someone to be trifled with.

“Sylvain, I need to speak with you,” she called to him as class was dismissed by the ringing of the bells. The others looked up from their packing at him. Felix scowled, perhaps judging him for the lack of effort he put into his training. Ingrid sighed, disappointed before even knowing why the professor needed to speak with her friend. Mercedes smiled at him, perhaps trying to be the calm before the storm.

In any case, there seemed to be consensus among his classmates that the reason for being called out was not a positive one.

Once the rest of the class dispersed, Sylvain walked up to Byleth’s desk and put a hand down on it.

“What can I do for you, Professor?” he asked.

Byleth grabbed a piece of parchment from the side of her desk and handed it to him. “You can try harder. You failed your last certification exam.”

Sylvain grabbed the parchment from her and looked down at it. He didn’t just fail it—he had been absolutely destroyed by it. At least, that was what it looked like. But Sylvain had hardly tried when he took it. He had broken up with another girl just minutes before taking it, so his mind was elsewhere, like where he could find the next perfect girl.

“O…kay.” He set the parchment down. “Is that all you wanted?”

“No, Sylvain.” She crossed her arms. Her set eyebrows was a look he had grown accustomed to these past few months. “You know this stuff. The fact that you failed shows me that you just weren’t trying, and that’s disappointing. Why don’t you care?”

“Don’t act like you know me, Professor. Like you’ve got me all figured out. You don’t,” he snapped. Her face relaxed, devoid of emotion once again.

Footsteps in the back of the classroom triggered a switch in Sylvain’s head. He picked up the piece of parchment again and flipped it so Byleth could see it more clearly.

“I’m kidding, Professor. You’re always so serious,” he said more lightheartedly. “I was distracted that day, that’s all. I’ll do better next time.”

Byleth didn’t say anything more. She just looked him right in the eye, and Sylvain wondered if she could see right through him… if she could see the disdain he felt for her, the disgust he held for her special Crest, the guard he held up whenever anyone else was around.

“See you later.”

Sylvain turned and walked away. Annette was in the back of the room, blushing furiously for interrupting, and he winked at her as he brushed past. “What a sense of humor, right?” he mentioned in passing, and Annette giggled awkwardly.

Yes, that went well. Absolutely fine.

* * *

Sylvain was used to being at the center of rumors. People would go quiet when he walked by and stare. It was hardly subtle. And he was good at playing it off like a joke. He could hold a conversation with anyone, even if they didn’t particularly like him.

But he _knew_ what those rumors were about. His philandering, his playboy ways, his manipulation. He knew what to say and accepted all the identities that others made for him. It was easier to play into it than mask it, especially when it made little difference in his ability to get laid.

This rumor, though? He had heard whispers of it but never got a clear idea—something to do with the professor, but not what he would expect. It was not until he sat down to a meal with Ingrid, Felix, and Prince Dimitri that it was cleared up.

“So, what’s going on with you and the professor, Sylvain?” Ingrid asked as she stuffed her face.

Dimitri nearly choked on his potato, and Felix rolled his eyes while he stabbed a carrot with more gusto than necessary.

“With the professor?” Sylvain repeated. “I mean, what would I _like_ to have going on between us, am I right?”

“No,” Felix grumbled.

“You’re acting weird around her. Cold. It’s like you don’t like her or something,” Ingrid continued. Dimitri’s face immediately relaxed. “Annette was telling me that you were really mean to the professor the other day. And you’ve been more sarcastic with her lately and avoiding her.”

“Annette didn’t get my joke either, it seems. Look, the professor just doesn’t get my sense of humor, that’s all.” Sylvain shrugged and ate a piece of his dinner.

Ingrid exchanged a look with the prince, who cleared his throat. “Sylvain, I encourage you to put aside whatever negative feelings you have towards the professor. She is an exceptional leader and has been more than helpful to you, especially when we were dealing with Miklan.”

Ingrid nodded. “Does this have to do with Miklan?”

Sylvain put down his fork and looked up at his friend. “This has nothing to do with him. I just don’t appreciate that the professor acts like she knows me.”

“She just wants to _get_ to know you,” Dimitri said.

“Okay, okay.” Sylvain waved them off, pushing his vegetables around with his fork. “I got it, Your Highness. Be nicer. Will do.”

“Even Felix gets along with her. It shouldn’t be a problem for you,” Ingrid pointed out. Felix looked up and rolled his eyes. “I’m simply saying… Sylvain, I admit that I am pleased you’re not lusting after her as I expected, but I would like it if you would at least play nice.”

Sylvain dropped his fork and stood up. “I just remembered. I have a date. I’ll see you later.”

He picked up his dishes and left the group of his childhood friends behind. Play nice? Sure, he could do that. How hard could it be?

* * *

“What happened?”

Sylvain glanced out of the corner of his eye to see the professor standing there. Eavesdropping again? Well, it wasn’t like this recent breakup was inconspicuous. They _were_ standing in the middle of town where everyone passed through for supplies. It was practical. If he broke it off with girls in public, they wouldn’t be able to make a scene without embarrassing themselves, and if there was one thing Sylvain knew about women, both common and noble alike, it was that they would do anything to avoid public embarrassment. Of themselves, anyway.

“Oh, Professor. Heh, I didn’t realize you were there. If we keep running into each other like this, people will start to talk,” he quipped, as if people weren’t already talking, and not exactly in the way he liked.

Byleth sighed, disappointment once again clear as the nose on her face.

“Hey, don’t get mad. I was joking!” His go-to. He was always joking with her. She just never appreciated his humor. “Ah, forget it. What do you need?”

“Girl problems, Sylvain?”

Ah, so… nothing. The professor didn’t need anything. She was just here to rub it in his face again.

“I fell for that girl recently,” he explained, “but I just wanted to have some fun and leave it at that. So, I told her we should break it off. I guess she was feeling a little more serious than I was. She started crying, and everything got a bit… complicated.”

How could one so stoic look so… judgmental? Byleth got it across, anyway.

“ _You’re_ complicated,” she accused.

“Come on, Professor,” he said, and he admitted to being a bit condescending about it. “Playing around with girls is the most fun a guy can have.”

No, she didn’t understand. She didn’t _get_ it. Clearly, he had been wrong about her. She was as innocent as they came. No trysts in the middle of the night, no forbidden romances with the one mercenary guy that Jeralt didn’t like. She had no experience with men, least of all with guys like Sylvain. And her judgment wouldn’t change anything, except make him dislike her more.

“Besides,” he continued, “I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t intend to change how I live my life. I’m a good-for-nothing, if you haven’t noticed, but I’m still a noble with a Crest. That’s all anyone cares about. It’s best to avoid getting too serious with fools like that. It only leads to trouble. I’m gonna be forced into an arranged marriage with some random noblewoman anyway.”

Pity. That was a new look. Subtle though it was, the shifting of her brow indicating a pointed swing from disappointment. She thought she had him all figured out now, and she felt sorry for him.

No, he wouldn’t let that stand. He wouldn’t accept pity from someone like her, someone who would pretend to understand his problems. She didn’t understand anything, least of all what it was like to grow up as he did.

“By the way, Professor. You didn’t know you had a Crest, did you?” he asked her.

“My father never told me,” she admitted.

“I see. I suppose a mercenary wouldn’t be concerned with such things.”

She was curious now. “What was your experience?”

“Most children who are born to noble families are tested upon birth to see if they bear one. Even descendants of the 10 Elites, like myself, can’t be legitimate heirs without a Crest. That means, as children, we’re only accept if we’re born with one. The heads of most noble houses keep having kids until they have one with a Crest. Those children then grow up to be heads of their houses, and the vicious cycle continues.”

Disappointment to pity to disgust. This was the most emotive Byleth had been since he met her, which wasn’t saying much, especially given how little her expressions changed each time. When they first met, he had noticed—past her beauty—that she seemed _hollow_. Like there was nothing behind her eyes. But the entire group of the Blue Lions had gotten better at noticing her subtle changes, and apparently, Sylvain had not been immune.

“Do you get it now? To all these commoner girls, I’m just a trophy. Or rather, a studhorse.”

“You mean they only want you for your bloodline?” Byleth asked.

“See? I knew you’d get it. These girls don’t love me. They love the potential _rewards_ of loving me. If I marry a girl and she gives birth to a child with a Crest, that kid might become the next head of House Gautier. For ages now, those of us with Crests have been envied and desired but never for who we are. I understand the value of my blood. Believe me, I hate how much I understand it. I know better than to dream of being free from this burden. I’m used to it by now. I used to think I didn’t have the right to live freely.”

“You don’t think that way anymore?”

Sylvain laughed. Oh, he didn’t have the _right_ to live freely per se, but he would act like he did. Sleep with a different girl every night, chase the ones who played hard-to-get. An innocent girl like Byleth wouldn’t understand.

“That’s right.” He took a step closer to his professor. “You know what? I’m a bit jealous. The whole time you were growing up, you never knew you had a Crest. You were _free_. Nobody pretended to like you. I kind of hate you for that…”

Another step closer. He narrowed his eyes as he looked down on her.

“You were a spoiled brat who should pay for that Crest. Maybe I’ll collect the debt.”

Her face fell. It wasn’t subtle. Her lips parted, and she took a step back from him with a bit of a stumble over her own heel.

Sylvain remembered briefly what Ingrid said, and he smiled. Scaring the poor professor wouldn’t be considered playing nice, even if he meant it.

“Ha! Gotcha! Wow,” he breathed, “you shoulda seen the look on your face just then. Don’t mind me, Professor. After all, ladies love a dark and brooding noble.”

Byleth took another step back and managed a small smile. “See you later, Sylvain.”

“Bye, Professor.”

She hurried away, and Sylvain watched as her figure disappeared into a small crowd on the village street. Yeah, maybe one day, he would collect that debt. But he’d like to watch her beg first.

* * *

The tension between Byleth and Sylvain continued in the coming months. When his friends were around, Sylvain acted as if nothing was amiss, which fooled them well enough. Byleth did what she could to avoid being alone with him, or it appeared that way, because if she called him out about a poor grade, she made someone else stay after class, too. It wasn’t, perhaps, highly professional, but she had never been a typical teacher. It also wasn’t usual for a professor to be around the same age as her students, or for a mercenary to be hired seemingly out of the blue.

Still, he made an exception when her father died, and he was oddly drawn to her after her hair turned green. He couldn’t let that distract him for long, though, and as soon as she returned to “normal,” he did, too.

But it was in the dining hall one day that she curled a finger at him, gesturing for him to come to her. He glanced around, half-expecting her to be beckoning for someone else, but the dining hall was relatively empty considering the hour.

“Sylvain. Eat with me, will you?” she asked, but it wasn’t so much a question as a demand.

He grabbed his meal from the counter and sat opposite Byleth at one of the empty tables. She was eating, too, and had quite the appetite. Growing up in one of the most prominent noble families in Faerghus, Sylvain had the pleasure of being schooled in all the ways to properly eat across cultures. And what his professor was doing, well… he couldn’t say that was one he had been taught.

“Slow down there, Professor. You’re going to choke.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sylvain?” she asked with her mouth half-full.

He nearly spit out his food, but he managed to swallow. “Excuse me?”

“You told me you hated me. I can’t change how I was raised any more than you can, so I don’t think it’s fair,” she clarified, and Sylvain put down his fork and knife.

“I told you I was jok—”

“You weren’t joking about that,” she interrupted.

“I was just in a bad mood. It’s not easy dealing with broken hearts. I prefer the part of love that _is_ easy,” he said with a shrug, then went back to eating his meal.

Byleth watched him curiously. “And what part is that?”

He smiled and reached across the table to spear one of Byleth’s carrots with his fork. “Do you want to find out?”

The professor moved quickly. In fact, he hadn’t even seen her move until his fork suddenly went flying across the table, clattering against the wood as it slid and then fell onto the floor. The carrot had slipped off in the attack and rested between their two plates. Byleth reached over with her hands and picked it up, stuffing it in her mouth with a satisfied grin.

“I’m your teacher, Sylvain.”

He stared at her as she chewed, mouth open, and then blinked away his surprise. “Okay, Professor.”

The message was clear. She could destroy him. It didn’t matter how much he hated her, didn’t matter that he wanted to collect the debt on that Crest. Byleth Eisner was dangerous, and being a professor didn’t mean that she had lost her mercenary roots.

They ate the rest of their meals quietly, and Byleth was the first one to stand. “It was a pleasure, Sylvain.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he said as she walked away with her dishes. She was gone before he finished his sentence.

* * *

And then _gone_.

Shit really hit the fan at Garreg Mach Monastery. Sylvain wasn’t even sure how it all happened, but the students were thrown head-first into war alongside the Knights of Seiros, and for what? He couldn’t even explain it. Edelgard, who he once thought just to be a pretty face, was actually scheming all the while at the Academy. Had he gotten on her bad side? Or would she spare him should they come face-to-face?

It mattered not. They were destroyed utterly by the Empire army. It was all they could do to flee with their lives.

At least… some of them.

Not all were accounted for when they made it back to Faerghus. Though, what did he expect? The professor wasn’t a Faerghus citizen, not that he knew, so maybe she had just gone somewhere else or remained with Seteth and the knights who stayed behind.

But no. It was with utmost certainty that it was reported that Byleth Eisner had perished during the battle. Fallen right off a cliff. There was no way someone could survive that.

Unless, of course, that person had the power of a goddess on her side.

Sylvain hung onto the hope that his professor survived—why, he didn’t know. But they all did, the remnants of the Blue Lions. Even when they had to separate and return to their territories and homes, the students clung to the possibility that their beloved teacher could have survived, just like she had the darkness of Zahras.

Time passed. Days with no news confirming their hopes turned into weeks and then months. And suddenly Dimitri was gone, too, killed for a murder he never could have committed. The only ones Sylvain heard from anymore were Felix, if he was lucky, and Ingrid, who wrote frequently. But even those correspondences began to trail off as Faerghus was launched into the war. Not many territories held out against the Empire, but times weren’t easy for the ones that did.

Those months passed by into years. He didn’t quite understand it himself, but not a day passed by that Sylvain did not think about the professor. He wanted her gone, didn’t he? And yet her absence haunted him, the uncertainty of her demise lingering in his mind like a ghost of someone he couldn’t forget.

 _The Millennium Festival_ , Ingrid wrote in her first letter in months. _I know that the festival will not occur, but what if we all go together anyway? You, me, and Felix._

It was a crazy idea. Stupid. The Empire surely had eyes on that place, not to mention hungry thieves who likely ransacked the place and called it home. If anyone from Faerghus, especially a group from the hold outs, went anywhere near that place, Edelgard would know about it.

But Sylvain liked the idea. He hadn’t forgotten. Maybe the rest of the Blue Lions remembered their promise, too. And maybe the professor would be there waiting for them to show up, just like she told them she would.

* * *

It took Sylvain awhile too long to speak to the professor upon being reunited. His feelings were conflicted. She was alive, Dimitri was alive. But there was something off about the both of them. Dimitri was like a feral beast, much like how Felix described him, while the professor…

Well, she _hadn’t_ changed. At all. She told everyone that she had just been sleeping the whole time, but it was more than that. It was as if she had been ripped from this plane of existence altogether, trapped in time in some place the goddess carved out for her, and she hadn’t aged a day. Suddenly all her students surpassed her in age, but still everyone looked at her with reverence.

It was Byleth who approached him first in the dining hall as he sat alone and ate his breakfast. She did not sit down with him but stood at the end of the table and looked down at him.

“Good morning, Sylvain.”

“Professor.”

“How have you been?”

Sylvain pushed the eggs around his plate and frowned. “You can take a seat if you want to catch up, you know.”

“Oh, no. I’m heading off to the training grounds in a moment. But I saw you here and realized we haven’t really spoken since… since everything,” she said. She reached out and touched the edge of the table, running a nail over one of the wooden boards. “Things sounded difficult in Faerghus.”

He nodded. “Well, yeah, it wasn’t exactly easy being one of the few hold outs in a region completely overtaken by war. But the good news,” he waved his spoon at Byleth and looked up at her with a smile, “is that as long as this war goes on, I don’t have to marry some random noblewoman I’ve never met.”

Byleth lifted her hand from the table. “You’re betrothed?”

Sylvain shrugged. “My father told me that once the war is over, I need to settle down. And he has just the girl picked out for me, too. But I wouldn’t call it betrothed, just… intended.”

“Oh.”

“Disappointed, Professor?”

Byleth took a step back from the table. “I’m off to go train.”

Sylvain watched the professor walk away, her form disappearing through the north doors of the dining hall. He wished he could have said something else to her. Talked about something else. He wished she would have taken a seat with him.

Even while she was here, she still haunted him. But much like a ghost, she would slip through his fingers again and again.

* * *

He didn’t _mean_ to save her life. It just sort of… happened.

But now here he was, confined to the infirmary like a sick school child. It wasn’t the first time he had taken the hit for someone, jumped in the line of fire to protect someone else’s life, but it was certainly the first time he had taken the hit for someone who he thought he wanted dead. As it turned out, apparently he didn’t. The five years without her should have been confirmation enough, but perhaps he needed more.

Sylvain was mobile, at least, which was more to say than some of the others in the makeshift army thrown together for a raging Dimitri’s hunt. Plenty of people had lost their lives for his cause, and to be honest, Sylvain wasn’t sure he liked the sound of this plan—and Sylvain _loved_ plans. If there was a plan, he was pretty much happy to follow through. But this one…

Well, it didn’t matter. Sylvain would follow behind the feral prince if it meant ending this war and the vicious cycle of death that followed it. His territory was suffering. What other choice did he have?

He would be no use to the Gautier House if he died though, so what was he thinking jumping in front of Byleth and taking the hit meant for her? A hit meant to _kill_ her, and that would have, had he not intervened. He got lucky, jumping in the way he had, because he managed to parry the attack while only barely being hit. But had he _not_ gotten lucky, that could have been the end of the Gautier line.

And now he was stuck here waiting for the army doctor to finish with the more critical patients. He might not be actively dying, but it still hurt. He had been spoken to initially and cleared for duty beginning tomorrow, but he still had to be patched up.

The door to the infirmary opened, but it was not the doctor who entered.

“Ah, Professor. Thanks for stopping by.”

Her expression was serious as always, but her tone quavered as she said, “You got hurt protecting me…”

“It’s not bad. I was even told I’d be cleared for service starting tomorrow. Besides, I got this scar fighting for you. It’s almost like a medal or something,” he joked.

“Didn’t you want to kill me?” she asked.

Sylvain’s eyes widened, and he searched her face for a moment, hoping for any single sign of emotion from her. But she was stoic, matter-of-fact.

“I certainly meant it when I said it, but…” He trailed off. How would he come back from that? She knew he wanted her dead for the whole Crest situation, and he didn’t want to come off as nonchalant about it. But to be honest, he hadn’t thought about wanting her dead in years. Five, to be exact. Because the idea of her being dead in those five years had not been a pleasant one to him.

“When I thought you were going to be killed for real, my reflexes kicked in. I reacted without thinking,” he explained. “It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being jealous of you. But, come on, I can’t help but look up to you. If I’d had the guts to run away from home, I wonder if I would have cared as little about my Crest as you do yours…”

Emotion. Or a spark of it, maybe. Byleth faltered somehow, a little flicker in her eyes or something of the sort. “You didn’t have the courage?”

What would he have done? Miklan tortured him all his life while he was still around, and his father idolized him for having a Crest. If he ran away, one of them would have found him—Miklan would have killed him, insulted that someone with a Crest would give that all up despite his intense jealousy; Sylvain’s father would have expended all available resources to find him.

He would never have been able to leave. But the thought _had_ crossed his mind while he was growing up. He could run away, free from the expectations of everyone else. No one would need to know he had a Crest. He could fall in love with a girl who didn’t know and didn’t care, and they could have children who didn’t need to be tested upon birth—because who would care?

“No…” Sylvain admitted to Byleth. “But if I thought I could have escaped, I would have tried. I’d leave behind House Gautier and the life of a nobleman… and anybody who knew I had a Crest.”

But it was a fantasy.

“Our house is to the very north of the Kingdom. Just across the mountains from us is land inhabited by foreigners to Fódlan. Right now, it actually belongs to Faerghus, but I can’t say we’re on good terms with the people there. Anyway, that land has been contested for centuries, and all that time, it has fallen to House Gautier to protect it. Actually,” he paused with a smile, one that lost all meaning, “our Lance of Ruin has been doing most of the protecting.”

Byleth frowned. “But it was stolen…”

Sylvain nodded. “Those were dangerous times. One wrong step and we would have lost our Relic to the church. My father was afraid that the church would try to keep the lance, so he entrusted it to me. If an emergency arose, I was supposed to be called back home.”

Rarely had any situation arose, at least during the time of peace before the war. Sylvain had never been called home from school because all the conflict that occurred with the people of Sreng was manageable by his father alone. But if it had ever escalated, Sylvain would have been called, and he would have been responsible for running through the rebels with the tip of the Lance of Ruin. For protection.

“I guess those very situations are why my family values Crests so much. Since I bear a Crest, my parents made sure I was never left wanting,” Sylvain told the professor. It was not to sound like a spoiled brat, like he had called her once. It was to set the scene, give context. “My older brother didn’t have one, and so when I was born, he was pushed aside.”

Miklan. All Sylvain felt for him now was pity. Anything more had been lost with his death. Sylvain could look back now and laugh, albeit bitterly, about all that had happened between them. Because, the fact of the matter was, Sylvain understood. And he had to wonder, if their roles had been reversed, would Sylvain have taken the same path as his brother?

“You know he once shoved me in a well?” Sylvain nodded as he spoke, the memories flooding back. He had been trapped in that well for three hours until someone came looking for him and heard him shouting. “He left me on the mountainside in the middle of winter, too.” A hunting trip? Sylvain had been a naïve little boy for agreeing to that one. The only reason he survived was because he walked in the right direction.

“That’s horrible,” Byleth said.

“Even as a little kid, I understood why he was like that. My mere existence stole everything from him.” He rubbed the spot on his side where his injury was before continuing, “I have no right to complain when I am surrounded by people who would give anything to bear a Crest but do not. _Now_ women smile at me for the same reason my parents adore me… and my brother wanted me dead. And I have to meet them all with a smile and a wink because I have a Crest.”

“So, what you really feel toward women is…” Byleth trailed off, and Sylvain smiled.

“The women who just want to use me to become nobility?” he clarified. “Hatred’s probably the right word. Though, in the end… that’s just an easy answer. I don’t even know how I truly feel about it all.”

This realization hadn’t stopped him from spending night after night with different women, even now during a war. It didn’t stop him from chasing the girls who smiled his way. No matter how much he hated them, he still had to act the part. And frankly, he got something pretty good out of it, too.

But now the professor would see right through him. His flirtatious words, his smiles at her, they didn’t mean anything. Not really.

The words about his jealousy and his hatred towards her? Real. Except he shouldn’t have. Byleth was nothing if not nice to him, a model professor through and through. And when push came to shove, it turned out that Sylvain didn’t want her dead. Not in the least.

Not even a little.

In fact, not at all. The opposite, maybe.

“Anyway,” Sylvain continued, clearing his throat, “it was pretty unreasonable of me to resent you. I’m really sorry about that. And… I want to say thank you, Professor. Seriously. Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked.

He smiled, this time genuinely. “Before I met you, I’d gone my whole life not knowing there was another way for me to live. So, from the bottom of my heart… I’m glad we met.”

Byleth smiled, too. “Take care of yourself. I’m counting on you.”

He was always watching her walk away. One of these days, he would have to turn the tables on her. And when she watched him walk away, would she think about how she just wanted him to come back?

* * *

It was weird to see Byleth reading in the courtyard in the middle of a war. Sylvain knew she was probably reading some strategy text from some famous military philosopher, but watching her leisurely yawn while flipping a page made it seem like they were separate from everything happening in the world around them.

She didn’t even notice him when he sat down in the grass next to her. It wasn’t until she put the book down to stretch that she blinked in surprise when she saw him beside her.

“Sylvain.”

“Sorry to bother you, Professor. You just looked so relaxed. I had to join you, see if I could sponge off some of that peaceful energy from you.”

She laughed, just a little, lilting sound. “I’m trying to figure out how we should go about attacking Fhirdiad. It’s hardly relaxing.”

“Oh?” He glanced down at the closed book. “What did you think about Dimitri’s little speech, then? Think it will last?”

Byleth nodded. “I think so. Or I hope so…” Her expression softened, her head tilting, and she put a hand down in the grass to prop herself up. “I think if anyone can lead us through this war, it’s him. It was never meant to be Gilbert leading us through. Or me for that matter. Even Rodrigue. It is unfortunate that his death had to lift Dimitri out of the ashes, but maybe we can do what’s right for the Kingdom now. I have faith in him.”

Sylvain could feel his heart pounding inside his chest, and he grabbed the folds of his shirt as if to distract himself from the pain.

She couldn’t… she couldn’t _love_ Dimitri, could she?

“Everyone seems excited to go back to Fhirdiad. Are you?” she asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“We’re going for a battle that could result in our deaths. Why would I be excited?” he snapped.

Byleth’s brow lifted, and she ran a finger over the cover of her book. “I didn’t mean to suggest…”

“You didn’t _think_ ,” he corrected. “This isn’t a game. I would have thought you of all people would have understood. But, then again, if you have time to be leisurely sitting out in the sun getting a tan, I guess you’re not all that concerned about the future of Faerghus. You have no connection to the Kingdom. So, what do you care about taking back the capital?”

Byleth picked up her book and then stood up. “You know that’s not true. Of course I care.”

Sylvain stood up, too, and looked down at her. “I’m going to train.”

But before he could walk away, before he could draw her attention as he left her behind, she turned on her heel and stomped away. The click of her heels on the pavement hit before he could get away, and he ended up being the one watching her leave again.

“Idiot…” he muttered to himself.

* * *

Sylvain stood outside her door for minutes before gathering up the courage to knock. He took a deep breath and lifted his fist, and his hand shook as it connected with the wood. Three taps, and then he took a step back. He had done this before. Not to apologize. Usually to get in a girl’s bed with her. But it was the same process, wasn’t it?

There was no movement inside. He would have been able to hear it, given the size of the dormitory rooms. That meant she was either asleep or out. He reached again and knocked three more times. Then four. Then five, this last one a little harder than he meant. If she was asleep, she’d be awake now.

“What are you doing?”

Sylvain turned, looking down the few steps to the walkway where Byleth stood. “Professor! I, uh… what does it look like? I was looking for you!”

She was holding a bundle of books from the library, each ornately covered except for one, which appeared near-destroyed based on the pages sticking out and the burns along its spine. She shifted the books uncomfortably, and Sylvain hurried forward to take them from her.

“Thanks. Why were you looking for me? Is everything all right?” she asked. She walked up the stairs and held the door open for Sylvain, and they both entered her room. She clearly didn’t have the reservation about this that he did, and he glanced around the room before setting the books down on her desk.

Her room was clean, which somehow he didn’t expect for a commoner and a mercenary. But on her desk were piles of parchment strewn about, each with different diagrams likely representing military formations. Several had been crumbled and then reused.

The sight made Sylvain’s stomach sink further. Byleth took this whole thing _beyond_ seriously. She was not the military commander in their little motley crew, nor was she the strategist. Dimitri and Gilbert took those roles. The professor was there as a voice of reason, a confidant, a morale booster. Yet she still did all this research and work trying to figure out the best ways to deploy their forces.

“I would like to apologize for the other day.”

“The other day?” Byleth repeated. “Why? What did you do?”

Her tone was accusing yet facetious. Whatever she was suggesting had nothing to do with their conversation the other day—did she not even recall?

He could just leave if she didn’t remember, then. No use sacrificing his pride for something she didn’t know about, right?

Sylvain sighed and went for it anyway. “For saying you didn’t care about taking back the capital. I’m sorry for saying that and being so rude. I know you were just trying to help and lighten the mood.”

Byleth walked past him to her desk, where she began to organize the mess of parchment. “No, you were right. I actually had just chastised Annette not long before that for saying she was excited to go to Fhirdiad for the same reason. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought that most of you would have some bittersweet feelings about going there.”

“Well, you were correct, as usual,” Sylvain said. He turned around and stepped further away to give Byleth space, which was harder than it sounded given these tiny rooms. He ended up standing in front of her bed, perfectly made, except for the sheet at the top which had been incorrectly folded down.

“I should have been more respectful towards your feelings. I’m not very good at reading the mood, you know,” she joked.

Sylvain’s heart pounded, an unfamiliar feeling. He crossed his arms as if it might muffle the aching thing, but it only amplified it.

“Professor, I have a question.”

No, what was he doing? He shouldn’t… it was inappropriate.

“Anything.”

He couldn’t stop his curiosity. “Do you like Dimitri?”

Byleth turned around in surprise. “Of course.”

Sylvain smiled and closed the distance between them. Byleth was holding a couple of rolls of parchment, but they were tightly bound now with ribbons of silk. She was so innocent. How had he ever expected that she was anything different than that?

“I mean, do you _like_ him? Are you attracted to him?”

Byleth’s cheeks began to burn like flames, reddening from the heat. “Sylvain. _No_. No…”

Did her blush betray her? Caught in her own feelings, embarrassed for crushing on someone who severely outranked her? Or something else?

It wasn’t as if they were her students anymore. And given the fact that she had been frozen in time during the five years she was lost, they were also older than her now. They all called her “Professor” still because it was too strange to call her by name, but it wasn’t as if there was anything binding them to that.

In either case, Sylvain felt certain that his instincts had been correct. But would she lie to him?

He reached up and tucked a strand of her mint-colored hair behind her ear. “Your secret is safe with me. Sorry to bother you so late.”

He began to walk out of her room, and he was partway down the steps when he heard her at the door.

“Sylvain, you’re wrong, I don’t—”

He turned back and smiled at her. “It’s okay. You can trust me. Goodnight, Professor.”

His room in the dormitory sat beside the prince’s. It had long bothered him, considering that the walls were paper-thin, and Dimitri liked to scold him for his nightly escapades. But tonight, it bothered him for a different reason. He couldn’t stop his heart from aching, and he blamed it on the prince next door.

* * *

Sylvain didn’t interact much with Claude while they were students at the Academy, but something about the Golden Deer leader rubbed him the wrong way. But, of course, the professor and the prince being soft-natured, they put their trust in the Alliance and went to Derdriu to help. It would be catastrophic to lose the Alliance in this war, anyway, considering that if the Empire took them, the Kingdom would have enemies in two directions and would be vastly outnumbered.

Still, Sylvain hadn’t expected the battle to reveal such _enlightening_ details of Dimitri’s past. Patricia was the prince’s stepmother? Edelgard was his stepsister?

After the battle for Fhirdiad, Sylvain half-expected Dimitri to return to the dark place in his heart he called home during the five years in isolation. But the prince kept himself in the professor’s light, slipping only briefly at the end of the battle for Derdriu as he questioned Arundel and Patricia’s role in the Tragedy of Duscur.

But most peculiarly, Arundel revealed the details of Dimitri’s family.

Felix grumbled to himself the whole way back to Garreg Mach until demanding to know the truth—but he wasn’t alone in his feelings of betrayal. The whole of the Blue Lions passed shifting glances back and forth to each other, theories forming in their minds of all the possible ways that this could be a farce. All the explanations that could save their relationships.

As it turned out, it wasn’t really a big deal. The professor already knew about it, and it didn’t change the fact that Edelgard needed to be stopped.

Yet even now, Sylvain sat in the training grounds watching Felix and wondering about how this revelation changed things. It explained why Dimitri had been so crazed when Edelgard revealed herself as the Flame Emperor. The betrayal he must have felt… to be misled by his own family—the only he had left, in fact, if only by marriage.

Felix continued his rounds until night fell, though Sylvain could never bring himself to join. His mind raced too much, connecting the dots of everything that happened along the way. The girl, the dagger… Dimitri cared about her. So, why did he never make any indication at school that he knew her?

The two boys wandered out of the training grounds well-past sunset, and it was on their way to the dining hall that their path crossed with the professor’s.

“Good evening,” she said. “Just finished some training?”

Sylvain grinned. “Gotta keep the skills sharp.”

Felix scowled. “You didn’t do a single damn thing the whole time we were there.”

Sylvain put a hand on his chest, feigning injury. “Why do you have to wound me like that in front of the professor, Felix?”

Byleth smiled, watching the exchange with something akin to amusement but not quite there. Something was bothering her.

Sylvain lowered his arms back to his sides and looked at Felix. “Hey, go on ahead. I have to ask the professor something.”

His friend went off without him, though Sylvain doubted he minded. Felix would much prefer to eat in silence than listen to Sylvain gabber on about his latest sexual conquest. At this point, Sylvain just talked about it to annoy him, not because there _were_ any conquests lately. His mind had been elsewhere, preoccupied with thoughts of the war and… other girls.

 _One_ other girl, to be precise.

“Are you all right?” he asked the professor. Her eyebrows rose, and she pursed her lips as a sign that she would not admit if anything was wrong. “Oh, I know what’s bothering you. You’re upset that Dimitri gave Edelgard that dagger as a kid, aren’t you? A little jealous?”

This was the wrong thing to say. Sylvain hoped that a little joke might lighten the mood and get the professor to talk, but her eyes narrowed. She began to walk away, not bothering with him, and Sylvain reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Sorry.”

She yanked her hand away, but she did not continue leaving. She crossed her arms and looked up at him, her lips still sealed shut.

“I just wanted to know if you were okay, but I can see it’s not any of my business. I’ll leave you alone,” Sylvain told her and resumed his journey towards the dining hall. He could still see Felix not far ahead.

“Sylvain.”

He stopped and looked back. She seemed to be fighting with herself about saying something, based on the way her nose crinkled.

“You look cute like that.”

Byleth’s eyes widened. Then she sighed, giving up the battle within herself, and uncrossed her arms. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m not…” She paused, the wheels in her head turning as she tried to find the words. “It’s not Dimitri. That’s all.”

She spun around and walked away with a constant click of her heels, moving so fast towards her room that she might as well have sprinted away from him. She looked back at him when she made it to her door and then vanished inside. The slam of her door echoed down the row of rooms.

Sylvain put his hand back to his chest.

If it wasn’t Dimitri, who was it?

* * *

It felt like the end.

Guilt hovered in the back of Sylvain’s mind as he thought about the road ahead. They would be on their way to Enbarr soon, and they were two ways this could go: they could all die, or they could win. And while Sylvain genuinely wanted the Kingdom to be victorious, he had this terrible thought in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t mind if the war went on.

The thought itself hurt him. Made his heart hurt. He knew how horrific this war had been. He had no right to wish it on. How disrespectful to the dead—how disrespectful to those who suffered from the Empire’s reign, whether they lost their lives or not.

But the thing was, he knew what the end of the war meant. His father told him as much. Upon conclusion of the war, and once Margrave Gautier did all he could for the people of his territory, his father would pass the title onto Sylvain. And with that title came the expectation of marriage. The intention. The girl his father had picked out for him, whoever she was, would be waiting when Sylvain returned home.

And he would have to return home once the war ended.

Sylvain sat on edge of his bed, twirling a bejeweled ring between his fingers. He saw it at the market yesterday, and the second the green emerald caught his eye, the image of the only girl he wanted manifested in his mind. The girl out of reach, the one he couldn’t have.

He tucked the ring in his pocket and sighed. Why did he waste his money on such a thing?

Why did he waste his heart on her?

* * *

Byleth was scrambling. Sylvain could see her flittering back and forth across the monastery, running all across creation to prepare everything for their siege on Enbarr. There were several circumstances to prepare for, after all: that the war could end upon a simple discussion with Edelgard; that Edelgard would betray their trust and capture—or worse yet—kill Dimitri instead of speaking with him; that Edelgard would not show; that Edelgard would show, but no change would occur; that they would have to carry on to Enbarr and take the capital; that they would win; that they would lose.

The scrambling did not concern Sylvain so. It was when the professor suddenly stopped running by the edge of the fishing pond, when she knelt down and pressed her forehead against her knees, that Sylvain approached her with his hand outstretched to her. She looked up from her knees at his hand, following his arm with his eyes until she reached his face.

She grabbed his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. When Sylvain went to drop her hand, she held on, staring down at his palm now and tracing the lines of it with her index finger.

“Professor?”

She jumped and dropped his hand like he suddenly caught on fire. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He paused. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know. It’s just so much to do, and Dimitri is—” She cut herself off when her gaze met Sylvain’s. “This feels like the end, doesn’t it? Everyone is talking about it. And it just hit me that I don’t really know what will happen after this. You all have roles to rise up to, but once we find Rhea, my purpose is fulfilled. The Academy won’t reopen for some time, so I won’t be a professor. I could go back to mercenary work, but somehow…” She trailed off and sighed.

He wanted to beg her to come to Faerghus with him, but his pride wouldn’t let him disgrace himself in such a way. Instead, he reached out and brushed her wild hair from her frazzled face, framing her with his touch. She seemed to relax at his touch, the fire and panic in her eyes fading to a kindling.

“I’m a mess, aren’t I?” she wondered with a gentle laugh.

He nodded. “A bit.”

“Sorry.”

Sylvain smiled at her. “Don’t apologize. You’re keeping this ship afloat, you know.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” she admitted, but she managed a smile for him, too.

Silence passed between them. After but a moment, Byleth laughed quietly again and took a couple of steps back. Sylvain looked at the distance between them and closed it.

The ring in his pocket taunted him.

“I better go,” Byleth said. “I have a ship to keep above water.”

She started to turn, but she hesitated halfway, looking out at the water. Something seemed to pass through her, and she turned back. She closed the distance between them even more, and they were so close now that she had to look through her eyelashes to meet Sylvain’s gaze.

He couldn’t take it. He didn’t have the self-control. He lifted his hands to either side of her face and leaned into her, kissing her without any care for what this meant. He couldn’t continue without knowing what she tasted like. He couldn’t die in the battle ahead without making sure he had no regrets.

Byleth leaned back into him, wrapping one arm around his neck and pressing him closer. For a split second, there was some hesitation—who was watching, who would see—but the feel of him melted her. She let down her guard and let him in, and Sylvain could have sworn she smiled against his lips.

The woman would be the death of him. He gasped for air when they parted, their foreheads still touching, and he brushed her hair out of her face again.

“I don’t want to be just another notch in your bedpost,” she told him.

“Never.”

He kissed her again until he could feel his knees weaken, and he was the one to take a step away from her now. If he went on, he would never be able to stop, and now wasn’t the time for such things. She needed to focus on the tasks ahead, he on the impending battle.

Byleth reached up and touched her own lips with the tips of her fingers.

“You should get back to work,” Sylvain said. “But I’m here if you need me.”

She nodded, then smiled at him. “Until later then.”

He smiled, covering his pocket with his hand. “Until later.”

* * *

The war was over.

It was not without its victims. The savagery of war was not lost on Sylvain. Even those who were not lost were changed somehow, the horrors of the damage done haunting the ones who lived. When he closed his eyes, sometimes he saw bodies piled up on his lance, and he had to open his eyes to remember where he was.

But, at the very least, recovery could begin. The celebrations started almost immediately, from the moment Dimitri exited the Imperial palace with Byleth Eisner by his side—no, not just by his side, but hand-in-hand. The crowd roared, relinquished from the reign of an emperor who seemed to value no life, perhaps not even her own. And though they had a long journey back to Faerghus, they were able to spare one night of drinking and merriment.

Sylvain did not even see Byleth that night. He spent most of the time at the festivities looking for her but to no avail. Perhaps she was with Rhea, who they had rescued from a dungeon in the palace, trying to figure out their next steps. He had heard rumor that Rhea wished to step down as archbishop, which would leave that role to Byleth if she wanted it.

But worse yet was the rumor about His Highness and Byleth: that the two would be wed. What more fitting end than the future archbishop of the Church of Seiros forming a union with the King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus? Not even Sylvain could deny that the idea was a good one.

Still, he could not give up searching for her, to confirm for himself that such a plan was not in the works.

But the festivities ended with the rising of the sun, and still he did not find her.

It was back to Faerghus with him now, and she would go back to Garreg Mach with Rhea. And like the rising of the sun, a new tomorrow would arrive for Sylvain of House Gautier. He just couldn’t help but feel as though the ring in his pocket was weighing him down.

* * *

Margrave Gautier was not an overbearing man. Despite the fact that he had disowned a son simply for not bearing a Crest, he was kind enough to the people in his territory and a good father to Sylvain.

But even he had been flummoxed—and then furious with rage—when Sylvain told him that any intended marriage was off. Sylvain, technically, did not have the right to deny such a union. Yet when Sylvain explained that his heart belonged to another, that he would find her and ask for her hand, Margrave Gautier was reminded of his courtship of his own wife, and he let his son go.

From the moment the rumor of King Dimitri’s engagement to Archbishop Byleth had been declared just that, a rumor and nothing more, Sylvain could not get the woman out of his mind. To be fair, he had trouble getting her out of his head the past couple of days _before_ it was confirmed a rumor, but he could grimace through the pain if he thought he was supporting a friend. Now that he knew the truth, however, he was certain of but one thing: he wanted Byleth Eisner to be _his_ wife. And before anyone else could snatch her hand, he would ask her.

Though the idea of Sylvain disregarding his responsibilities in a time when the territory could use his help bothered Margrave Gautier, he gave his blessing to his son, who left before the sun rose.

Sylvain arrived days later at Garreg Mach Monastery. It was still a relative ruin, but a crew of unarmored knights and monks were helping rebuild the crumbling parts of the monastery that they had been unable to procure supplies for before. By the time Sylvain arrived, however, the campus was sparsely populated, as most had retreated to their rooms to rest for another day of construction.

He approached Byleth’s door with his fist prepped to knock. The crickets chirped from the bushes nearby, the moon the only thing lighting his way. He hesitated, then dropped his hand back to his side. It was too late now. She was probably already asleep.

He returned an hour later with a note that he slipped under the crack in her doorway and retreated to the Goddess Tower where he would wait for her. He sat against the wall, closing his eyes and knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he saw her.

The hours passed by, and Sylvain watched the sun rise. His stomach twisted into knots. Surely, she would be here soon.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs leading up to the top of the tower where Sylvain stood twisted his stomach even further. He would have to play it cool—that was what he was, that was _who_ he was, someone who wouldn’t get nervous about something like this.

And yet the sound of Byleth clearing her throat made him weak in the knees.

He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look at her yet. So, he stared at the orange-hued sky, remembering somewhere in the back of his mind what he wanted to say to her.

“Professor,” he started, still unable to bring himself to say her name—not yet. On his lips, it felt forbidden. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while. I’ve just been out here watching the sky grow lighter.”

“Sorry.”

Her voice. For someone who bared her soul so infrequently, her voice was strong and sure. Like the sound of a bell.

He turned to her, and it took everything he had not to kiss her right now, to sweep her off her feet and carry her away. It was too soon for that. He didn’t even know what she would say to his proposal. He hadn’t exactly been the most… reliable in love. She had seen too much of his bad side.

“No, it’s okay. I just got here way too early.” He smiled at her. She looked radiant—life as an archbishop suited her, even though she hadn’t exactly been the most religious prior to being hired by Rhea as a teacher. That was what he thought would make her so good at the job: she had no preconceived notions getting in her way.

“It’s really just hitting me. For the past five years, we’ve been fighting and fighting…” The war had officially been over for three days now. Dimitri had been coronated a two days ago, upon returning to Fhirdiad, while Rhea stepped down and named Byleth her successor almost immediately.

Everything was different now. Byleth was right: they all had their own roles to fill. Sylvain would take over for his father within the next year; Felix had already taken up his role as head of House Fraldarius. Ingrid remained in Fhirdiad with Dimitri, training with some knights there to become a knight herself. The other Blue Lions, too, they would soon have new roles to take on.

“But now the war’s over. It’s time for a new way of life,” Sylvain continued. “So, I’ve decided I want to take responsibility for my own fate.”

“Responsibility?” Byleth repeated.

“That’s right. My Crest doesn’t decide my fate. I do. It’s time for the first step in the right direction. I don’t want to marry a girl who wants to use me for my Crest or a girl who someone else chose for me.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving the ring he kept there, the ring that weighed him down, urging him to reach out to her, and held it up in front of Byleth.

She stared at it as the first morning’s light hit the jewel in the center. He could see thought pass behind her eyes, a control over her emotions so she would not betray herself. But what was there to betray? Disgust?

“I want to marry someone I really care about. And, you know, maybe I can’t…” Sylvain shook his head. “But I’d like to try.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Then, she frowned. “Do you really mean it?”

His heart sunk. “You don’t believe me?” he asked. All those years pulling jokes hadn’t done him any favors. “I probably should have seen that coming…” He lifted his fist into the air and grinned at her. “In that case, I’ll just have to propose to you over and over again… until you _know_ I’m serious. Marry me. I’d do anything for you. I’m done lying, especially to myself.”

Byleth’s cheeks began to glow, a subtle pink at first, and then a burning red. Her thoughts no longer marred the emotions on her face—she was transparent, open, real. Her lips parted as she smiled. She nodded, holding her hand out to him.

“If you cheat on me, you’ll pay dearly,” she quipped.

Sylvain could hardly believe his eyes. This woman, the one he thought he hated, the one he resented for having an easy life with a Crest, was holding her hand out to him. The woman who was so much better than he was, who accepted the tasks the world thrust upon her, wanted to marry him.

His voice quivered as he breathed, “You mean…”

She nodded again. It took everything he had to keep himself standing. His legs grew weaker and weaker the more he gazed upon her. “If we’re together, I don’t even care if I stay locked up inside for the rest of my life,” he declared. “If you told me you didn’t want me to _look_ at another woman, I’d go blind for you!”

Byleth laughed, a sound that he would have the pleasure of hearing someday again. “That’s taking it a bit far.”

“Sorry about that. I got a little excited. I’ve spent my whole life relying on flowery language, so it’s a bit hard to rein it in.” He took a deep breath and looked down at Byleth’s hand. His hands shook as he reached out to slip the ring onto her finger. “Okay…” Another deep breath. He couldn’t get the damn thing on. “Calming down now.” One more breath. “I’m just over the moon about this.”

It wasn’t a perfect fit. The band would have to be adjusted. The heavy emerald pulled the ring down, falling to the underside of her finger instead of settling on top. But Byleth merely rotated it, holding her hand up and looking at the ring.

“With you by my side, I’m excited to find out what this new way of life is all about.” He reached out towards her, and she slipped her bejeweled hand into his. “We fought hard for this, and I’m beyond happy just to be alive. And now, I’m engaged to the perfect woman.” He paused and shook his head. “Strike that. You know what? My happiness isn’t what I care about today.”

He pulled her by the hand to the deck on the outside of the Goddess Tower. She stepped in front of him, leaning against the railing, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind. They stood, staring at the sunrise, and he pressed a kiss to her hair.

“I’m going to spend the rest of our lives together trying to make _you_ happy.” He pressed one more kiss to the top of her head. “I promise.”

“Sylvain…” She wriggled out of his hold and turned to face him, keeping the distance closed as she shifted. “I love you. It was always you.”

She snaked a hand to the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. And as she pressed her lips to his, breathing him in, he knew that he would be forever in her debt. Because despite what fate dealt him, despite who he became, she loved him nonetheless.

And that was a price he could never repay.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wanted this to be, like, a spicy fic. But I felt like, since that’s who Sylvain is characterized to be, it would be better for him to fall for her without playing around. Someday I’ll write something a little edgier. Anyway, I just really like Sylvain’s characterization.


End file.
